


Between the devil and the deep blue sea

by Barkingmad



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Brief Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Daredevil Season 3, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-The Defenders, Resurrection, born again comics inspired, it was the real superpower all along, spoilers obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11850186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkingmad/pseuds/Barkingmad
Summary: After an end there is a beginning, and Matt learns how to live in the after with all its consequences.Post The Defenders and onwards.





	1. Chapter 1

_“It’s not over; they’re still digging right-”_

_“Karen, it’s been days”_

_“-maybe he made it out”_

_“…Maybe”_ But even as he said it, the word rang hollow. It felt like a lie.

Karen felt it too. She prided herself on being a practical woman, rational, but she clung to it, like one of the candles it was a flickering vestige of hope. Each day it grew a little dimmer.

“Sit with me?”

“Of course”

Foggy rubbed a thumb over her hand and she squeezed back. They sat like that for a long time, pressed closely together, each lost in their own thoughts.

Karen took in the tall beams, the empty wooden pews, and the silence itself felt like a mourning presence. To break it with words would be wrong, disrespectful. She didn’t know what to say anyway - she hadn’t stepped foot in a church since she was a little girl, this was Matt’s world not hers and it felt oddly intrusive to be here now without him. Occasionally the old bench creaked, or cloth bushed against cloth as she shifted and it echoed loudly off the high ceiling, too loud - briefly she wondered if this was how Matt heard everything, if he-

_Matt’s not here._

The thought hit her suddenly, the cold hard fact of it settling heavy in her chest.

_Matt is not coming back._

She buried her head in Foggy’s chest, her shoulders shaking with each sob. He rubbed comforting circles on her back, his hand warm and familiar. She felt hot tears in her hair and squeezed him even tighter.

* * *

   
Voices. Muffled and distant like he was underwater. He should be able to make out what they were saying _but they were so far away_ and he couldn’t hear past the ringing in his ears. Dust filled his nose, brick, heat, burning-

-warm calloused hands pulled at him and suddenly there was pain, brighter and louder than anything and it was all he could feel. It lit up the black, all-consuming and he let out a strangled yell.

“Careful with him. Gently now…”

Slowly awareness returned. He couldn't begin to try and move, every muscle and joint throbbing with pain and he waited breathlessly as it receded to a dull roar. He could feel darkness pressing in from all sides, numbing the edges and promising relief.

The hands were back, pulling at his suit, the helmet-

- _the suit, he was wearing the suit, no no no_

He pushed back, and as the darkness withdrew the pain flared once more.

“Easy, you’re safe”

He tried pulling away, lifting his arms but he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. His limbs felt heavy and his bones leaden.

_Get up, Matty._

The voice sounded an awful lot like Stick. He would be disappointed if he could see him now, he needed to get up to _move_ -

His side exploded, then blissfully the darkness pressed back in. This time he let it.

When he woke it was to gentle voices just on the edge of hearing, clearer than before but still distant. He could reach them, if only he wasn’t so tired…

A different pair of hands pressed something cool and damp against his forehead. He took in a deep breath and the tastes and scents of the room came with it. Copper in the air. Blood. His? Likely. Chlorine, rust. The squeak of metal then the rush of water. Someone was running a tap. The damp cloth returned and pressed circular motions against his temples, his chest, rubbing away the copper smell and he hissed as pain bloomed where it touched – _it was his own blood then._ He shifted and felt more cloth, dry and coarse this time, rub against his skin. Bandages?

His tongue felt large and dry like he had swallowed sand. He tried to wet his lips and felt the rim of a glass press against his mouth. A hand cradled the back of his head, lifting it slightly off the pillow so he wouldn’t choke and as the woman lent in he caught the smell of soap, ink, wood and linen. It was strangely comforting. He drank deeply, but the glass was pulled away too soon and he missed its absence. The hand behind his head disappeared and he felt a rush of vertigo as he was lowered back down, then a draft of air as whoever it was walked away.

The taste of brick and ash still lingered at the back of his throat but he forced himself to focus elsewhere. Old sheets, cheap and rough from years of washing, but clean. The swish of tunics, several pairs of footsteps on linoleum floors. Hospital?

Bit by bit the pieces slotted together, slowly creating a picture - slower than he would like – but his head felt thick and fuzzy with sleep and the ringing was still there, fainter now but the pounding at the back of his skull was more prominent and he winced at a partially violent throb.

No, not hospital. Too quiet and no bleach smell.

_Concentrate. What happened?_

He tried to reach back for the memories but found only a gaping blankness. He remembered the fight, the bomb, Elektra… but then nothing. He felt the first stirrings of panic.

 _Elektra_. _Did she make it out?_

His breathing quickened and he tried to sit up but to his surprise, he felt a hand press against his chest. He thought he was alone - _He must be more out of it than he knew._

“Relax, child. You’re badly injured-”

“Where am I?” His voice sounded weak and hoarse with disuse.

“Clinton Mission Shelter. You’re safe here, I promise.” He tried to focus on her heartbeat but his head gave another vicious throb and his attention snapped away like he’d been stung. He was not used to worrying about being lied to, but unable to listen to a heartbeat he felt naked and vulnerable. It did nothing to ease his anxiety.

The nun spoke again, sounding kind but stern “Can you tell me your name?”

He opened his mouth to answer then closed it again quickly. With great effort he lifted his hand up to his face. _No mask._ His panic doubled, “Did you-”

“Your wounds were… extensive, however given the suit we assumed you would not want authorities or a hospital”

“No, no hospital”

A pause. The mattress creaked and he realized she was sitting on the bed with him.

“I might not agree with your methods… but…” The air above her shoulders swirled as she shook her head and she sighed, her voice taking on a gentler tone, “for the good you have done, I hardly think you deserve the name Devil. Your identity is safe with us, I assure you. Think of it as a seal of confession.”

Matt breathed out, feeling some of the tightness in his chest ease.

“Thank you…” He swallowed thickly.

She straightened up “Is there someone we can call?”

The name came to him before he even had to think of it. “Foggy. My – my friend, Foggy. His number would be under Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz ”

“And who should I say is asking for him?”

He took a deep breath and blew it out in a rush before answering. There was no harm in saying it now. “Matt, Matt Murdock”

Silence. The nun’s chest hitched and she stood abruptly.

Matt frowned, clearing his throat “is everything alright-”

But she had already swept out the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dump this on your doorstep. You tell me to get off your lawn.  
> I can't hear you. You mime through the window, saying you’ll call the cops.  
> The transaction is complete.

 

_Which is the story of the falling rain  
that rises to the light and falls again_

 -A Short Story Of Falling, Alice Oswald

* * *

 

It had been a constant worry that one day, Matt’s luck would run out. He had known deep down, it would happen at some point. Daredevil went out at night and each time Foggy begged any higher power listening _‘not this night, let him come home’_ \- And Daredevil always did, worse for wear mostly, _a lot_ worse for wear occasionally but he had always come back, each time he got back up and eventually Foggy had learned to push the worry to the back of his mind.

This time he didn’t come back, and the dreaded day arrived when Matt didn’t walk back through that door. His best friend was dead and he might as well have dug the grave for him. Foggy had hoped when he handed over the suit that it would be the beginning of the end for Daredevil; that it would help Matt leave it behind for good and after this they would never see the suit again.

He felt sick in the knowledge that in a way, he had been right.

Claire said there were no talking him down from it, and the logical part of him agreed. Matt would have gone anyway, whatever he did. Still, the guilt festered.

The phone was ringing.

Foggy jerked awake from the nap he never meant to have and nearly fell out of his chair. He raised a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes but found a piece of paper stuck to his cheek – with a scowl he peeled it off and placed it back on his desk with the rest of the paperwork. _Damn that was a lot of paperwork_. It was piling up; the height of the paper stack was reaching unprofessional levels but he couldn’t quite find it in his heart to care.

The ringing cut off and Marci’s voice drifted over from the other room.

Foggy leaned back and stretched, his spine popping. He checked his watch – _13:46_ – _shit_ he had a meeting with a client in an hour and he was only halfway through background research.

Marci’s heels clicked as she crossed the kitchen floor towards him “Oh good you’re awake” A manicured hand appeared over his shoulder, holding out the phone. “It’s for you”

“Who is it?”

“Not sure, a woman saying she wants to speak to a Mr. Foggy Nelson”

He shrugged and held the phone up to his ear, pointedly ignoring Marci’s raised eyebrow at his rumpled appearance.

“Hello?”

“Is this Foggy?”

“Yeah” He stood up, frowning at the use of his nickname and swapped the phone to his other hand, “who am I speaking to?”

“My name is Sister Catherine, at the Clinton Mission Shelter. We found a Matthew Murdock”

Time stopped and the world fell away. He couldn’t breathe, he felt dizzy all of a sudden and gripped the edge of the table to steady himself.

 “Is - Is he…”

“He’s alive. Badly injured but alive. He is asking for you.”

 _Alive._ It all rushed back in at once - outside a car horn blared, a bus rushed past, people talking and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. _Alive_ –    

“Mr. Nelson? Are you there?”

“I’m here” He breathed “Where are you?” He scrambled for a pen and paper, knocking over a glass in his haste as Sister Catherine read out an address - too late he realized the piece of paper he was writing on was probably an official legal document but he didn’t care.

“...Rosewood lane, got it."

"Would you like to come now or would another time be more suitable?" The voice on the line asked, annoyingly calm.

"Hell yes i'm coming now - I’m on my way” He snatched his wallet from the desk and strode towards the door, almost colliding with Marci.

“Woah Foggy slow down! Hold on, where are you going? You have a-”

“Cancel my appointment with Mrs Thompson”

“What – why?”

“It’s Matt” He grinned, tears pricking the corner of his eyes “He’s alive”

_Damn that felt good to say out loud._

* * *

  
He had just managed to raise himself to his elbows when he heard the door creak open and suddenly Foggy was standing in the doorway, out of breath. _It was Foggy, right?_ The strawberry shampoo, the familiar heartbeat – but everything was coming in waves; first nothing then all too much. It was disorientating. _Probably pain killers_ he mused, and somewhere at the back of his mind he knew he should be angry about that but for the moment he felt floaty and he was pretty sure his best friend was standing there staring at him. There was a pause and neither of them spoke.

Matt cleared his throat. “Uh, hey”

“…Hey” He surged forwards heart racing and Matt braced himself for anger, yelling, maybe a lecture about the consequences of his actions but before he could think his arms were full of a tearful Foggy squeezing him so tightly Matt thought his ribs would break all over again.

“Fog, ow-”

Foggy jerked back, extracting himself apologetically “Sorry, sorry, shit you’re pretty banged up huh”

Matt winced, propping himself up against the pillows “Just a bit”

Foggy wiped salt from his face “I missed you buddy” then he was pulling him back into a hug, gentler this time and pressing his face into Matt’s neck, breathing him in. Matt’s own face felt wet and he squeezed back as tightly as he could.

“I missed you too”

“I thought you were _dead,_ we all thought you were dead, _jesus-”_

“Language” Matt mumbled into Foggys shoulder, pulling an arm away to gesture vaguely to the crucifix hanging above his bed.

Foggy let out a short, wet laugh “You _arsehole_ ” he mumbled back, but there was no weight behind it and Matt could still feel him grinning wildly against his cheek. Suddenly Matt stiffened. Memories rose up of explosions shaking the ground, a fragile elevator, the earth itself tearing apart and he pulled back.

“Did they make it? Is everyone okay, did they make it out-”

“It’s okay, everyone’s okay”

“Really?” He hesitated, letting hope creep in to his voice “Everyone’s fine?”

“Everyone but you, dummy”

The relief swept over him in a tide and all the tension from the last week drained away leaving him weak. He crumpled into Foggy’s arms, feeling safe and at home for the first time in a long time.

“Woah are you okay? Well – I know not _okay_ okay but if you’re moments away from collapsing you’d tell me, right?”

One of the nuns must have been listening nearby because she stepped forwards and spoke gently to Foggy. “He is still very weak – we put him on morphine for the pain so he might be a little out of it”

_Ah that explained the floaty feeling_

He heard Foggy grit his teeth and the nun continued quickly “He was in a bad way when he came to us, we had to act fast. It was three days before he woke up.”

“Wait, came to you? Who found him?”

A rustle of clothes as she shrugged “Sister Margaret found him on the doorstep four days ago, she’s been caring for him”

“Thank you, for everything. I still can’t believe…” He trailed off and gave Matt one last squeeze before leaning back from the embrace, holding him at arm’s length. Immediately Matt missed the warmth of it.

“Let’s get you home”

Slowly, leaning heavily on Foggy, Matt pushed himself up from the bed and stood swaying slightly.

“You good?”

The stitches strained with the movement and he tightened his grip on Foggy’s arm. His fractured bones creaked and he winced. Down the hall a man was crying, a toddler wailed; hungry and feverish. The whisper of breath as people prayed, he couldn’t quite make out what for. Tiny claws clattered across the pantries wooden floor, his head swam-

“You still with me? You’re looking a little pale there, buddy”

He wanted to nod but a wave of nausea told him to hold his head very still.

“Matt?” Foggy’s voice was tinged with concern. He didn’t want Foggy to be concerned. He closed his eyes, pushing everything away, and concentrated on just breathing. He could do that. In and out. Someone pulled a coat over his bare shoulders – it was too large and rubbed uncomfortably over the myriad of bruises, but it was warm and only then did he realize he was shivering.

One step at a time he limped towards the exit, Foggy shuffling along beside him and supporting most of his weight. They were nearly at the doors when a flurry of skirts and quick footsteps hurried towards them, “Wait!”

They both turned at the new voice. “You left you’re uh... this” She held out a bag and judging by the creak in the plastic Matt assumed the contents weren’t light. _Dense, folded – clothing?_

Foggy took a sharp intake of breath. “I’m guessing you know then”

“I tried to wash it but the um, the blood was hard to get out. But as I assured Matthew, his secret is safe with us.”

_The suit_

“Who else knows?”

“Just myself and Sister Catherine”

“Thank you” Foggy breathed “And for taking care of him. You must be Sister Margaret, right?”

“Yes that’s right”. A waft of air as the woman smoothed down her tunic, “There’s no need to thank me. I just did what anyone would have. Besides…” She thumbed something hanging around her neck “The Lord isn’t done with him yet”

_That heartbeat leaning over him, the smell of ink and wood_

They turned once more to leave but before he could stop himself, Matt blurted out “Wait… Do I know you?”

The world felt blurred and his head throbbed again as he tried to focus, but through the haze her voice seemed to change, becoming flat and sad, and he could have sworn her heartbeat wavered as she replied “No, I don’t think so.”

Foggy tugged on his arm and began guiding him away “Come on bud, a cab’s waiting”

* * *

  
The buzz of the electronic release echoed through the hall and the cell door opened with a rattle. A large man in an orange jumpsuit stepped out, his hands cuffed loosely behind him. Two guards escorted him past security and into a small room – an old sign above the entrance might have declared it the visitor booth if the plastic letters weren’t so worn and scratched.

A guard stepped forward to release his hands and the man took a seat in the centre booth.

“Leave us”

“Yes Sir” The guards glanced between themselves and filed out, closing the door behind them.

Wilson Fisk picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear. On the other side of the glass, a figure mirrored his actions and spoke into the receiver.

“This better be good.”

“I hear you go the extra mile and I hire only the best for the best”

The figure stared for a moment, head tilted and rubbed a scarred hand along his jaw. Then he gave a single slow nod, seemingly satisfied with this answer.

“The details will be sent to you, along with payment. 40 percent up-front of course; you’ll get the rest when it’s done” Fisk leaned in “Do it right, and I promise you triple what’s in that envelope. Do this right and you won’t need to take another job for a very, very long time.”

“Oh, I don’t do this for the money… but you make a very generous offer.” The man flattened his hand against the desk and a cold smile tugged at his lips. “And you have me intrigued - Do this… right?”

“You must understand, I sought you out specifically. Let’s just say I trust in your… particular reputation”

“Ah so it precedes me.” The man rocked back in his seat “Good, that’s good.”

Fisk held the phone in a white-knuckle grip, his face almost touching the glass “It is of the utmost importance you do this properly and… to the full extent of your abilities. Do it right, and get it done”

Behind the glass the man swung forwards again and suddenly stilled, his eyes hard and steady. He grinned. “I never miss”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More actual plot next chapter I promise. Thanks for sticking with me!  
> I have a suspicion that in Season 3 Matt will be presumed dead for a lot longer, but for this stories sake i'm shoving him right back into the mix.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the tags kick in, folks. Nothing graphic happens but there are a lot of Thoughts and Feelings, and some aren't particuarly pleasant or healthy.

 

_Let me go to the window,_  
_Watch there the day-shapes of dusk_  
_And wait and know the coming_  
_Of a little love_  
  
-At a Window, Carl Sandburg

* * *

 

Matt fell rather than lowered himself onto his couch, and with an arm still wrapped firmly around Foggy, he quickly followed suit.

“Ooph, you’re heavier than you look, Murdock."

“Sorry” he mumbled, shuffling into a more comfortable position.

“It’s all that muscle!” A finger poked him gently in the stomach “You gotta ease up on the workouts; you are starting to make the rest of us look bad”

“…look bad” Matt echoed with a small chuckle and tipped his head back to lean against the cushion. At some point the coat was tugged off and replaced with one of his own hoodies, smelling stale and faintly of dust. Everything was too quiet as if a layer of glass existed between him and the world but he couldn’t find the energy to be stressed. He was home, his friends were safe, and he was just so tired…

“Nuh-uh, no sleeping until Claire gets here”

“Claire’s coming?” He opened his eyes, more habit than anything else, and frowned.

“Yeah buddy I phoned her in the cab. You don’t remember?”

“…not so much”

“She’ll be here soon alright so just uh, up and at ‘em until then yeah?”

“'Mmkay Fogs…”

“No no no, you can’t say that whilst falling back to sleep.”

“I’m awake” With a tremendous effort Matt pushed himself back into the couch so he was more upright and rubbed a hand over his face. It didn’t feel _real_. He smacked his lips. If he was going to do the whole ‘awake’ thing, he needed a drink. In fact, a drink sounded wonderful. If only he had some water… Even tap water with its traces of rust and chlorine would be brilliant. He nodded, water it was, and stood, walking over to the kitchen sink.

“Uh what are you doing?” A hand touched his shoulder.

How did Foggy follow him so quickly?

“Buddy?” The squeak of cheap leather as Foggy leaned in closer, concerned, and Matt realized neither of them had even left the couch. “Water” he muttered, “Was getting water”

“How about I get you some water, and you stay right here – how does that sound?”

That did sound rather good if he thought about it. He was comfortable and warm and going anywhere felt impossible.

“Okay you haven’t said anything but you haven’t moved either so I’m going to take that as a ‘yes that’s a great idea Foggy you’re an amazing friend’” His footsteps receded into the kitchen, accompanied by the occasional crunch as he stepped over ceramic and broken glass.

_Broken glass? Oh._ The earthquake that wasn’t an earthquake. He never cleaned up his apartment afterwards. It must be a wreck.

A tumbler of water pressed against the back of his hand and he took it, drinking deeply until there was nothing left – then the empty glass disappeared and Foggy placed it on the table with a quiet ‘clink’.

“You are”

“What’s that, buddy?”

“Amazing friend.”

Matt heard the corners of Foggy's lips lift. “I am pretty awesome”

He hummed in agreement, a pillow materialising behind his head. “…Mean it”

The seat cushion dipped as Foggy sat back down and in a rush of air he released a long breath. “Hey” he said softly, “Anytime.”

  
  
What could have been two minutes or two hours later, knocking announced someone at the door and Foggy practically leapt from his seat in his haste to answer it. Matt startled, reaching out a hand in panic.

“Fogeh”

“Hey I’m still here” His voice drifted over from the hallway “I just need to get this okay?” He opened the door and the fresh draught of air bought the smells of hospital, vanilla and floral scents; a combination Matt now marked in his head as distinctly Claire. She was dressed in her work scrubs, looking worn but anxious and a bulging medical kit grasped in her right hand.

“Thank god” Foggy sighed.

“Hm - more like the generous boss who let me off my shift a little early”

“I’m glad you’re here”

“I don’t know if I can say the same yet; I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t some sort of sick joke or fever dream”

“See for yourself” Foggy moved aside and she stepped through, footsteps nearing as she entered the living room.

“Holy shit” A beat. Matt felt her eyes graze up and down his body and flinched under the scrutiny. He couldn’t look that bad, right?

“You look like hell”

Her heart was strong, adamant. _Apparently so._

Matt tried a smile but it felt mechanical, like his body hadn’t fully rebooted yet and reactions were on autopilot. “S’good to see you”

“You too” Her heart never missed a beat and he blinked in surprise. It was a good surprise though, like waking up in winter and opening the curtains to a warm sunny day.

She sat, the bag bumping his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him in a tentative hug.

That was odd. Nothing about Claire was tentative. She was fierce and warm and constant, careful maybe, but not tentative and his brow creased at the thought that she was touching him like he would shatter.

“Nothing can keep you down for long, huh”. She unzipped the medical bag, pulling out a pair of clean gloves and quickly slipped them on. “I’m going to give you a quick check over alright? As grateful as I am for the people that looked after you, I don’t know much about what they did or their level of training”

She felt down the back of his head and along his temples with practised hands and he relaxed into the touch; he really had missed her and it was soothing, calming even-

Until it suddenly was not and he hissed in pain as Claire prodded a spot just above his forehead.

“Sorry. Yeah you’re pretty bruised, well everywhere really, but you have a bad cut just here” She eyed the haphazard stitches, the thin lines looked drawn on by a toddler but they held the torn skin and tissue together. Just about. With any luck they would even stay. She moved on to his chest and began unwrapping the bandage on his side.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it then” Foggy said from nearby, retreating to the kitchen. Matt forgot he was standing there and frowned in frustration. He should have been able to sense that.

“Does that hurt?” Claire asked, taking his expression as one of pain.

“No, no it’s fine. M’ fine.”

She breathed out heavily through her nose and Matt didn’t need to hear anything to know she had rolled her eyes. “First thing” she warned, her professional no-nonsense-nurse tone creeping in, “that mantra of yours is banned from here on out. You were under a building when it blew up and collapsed on top of you.”

_Like he could forget it_

“You’re looking pretty good all things considered, but I’m going to need you to be straight up with me so you can stay that way. That includes telling me if things aren’t alright with you. Got it?”

He nodded, a slow dip of the head.

“Good. Okay then.” She reached back in to the medical bag, digging out fresh gauze and antiseptic. “Hey, can you use those super senses on yourself? If I can’t get you to a hospital at least you’re a human x-ray”

“Hmm it has its perks” Matt smiled and turned his focus inwards.

It should have been easy to cut through the noise, to find the creaking bones and wire strung sinew but it was like wading through water. He got stuck on a cluster of cells swarming a burst vessel, more swollen than the surrounding area. Just a small gash. He pushed past and through to the wound in his side.

“Rib’s fractured. Not too bad though, I think.” The key word was 'think'. The world on fire felt strangely distorted.

_Concentrate._ Ignoring the headache, he delved deeper. Stretches of skin and muscle, the hiss of lungs inflating and relaxing. His breathing was fine then but that wasn’t news. Nerve endings crackled – no, that was the neon board outside. The rush of blood was loud, _far_ _too loud_ and he flinched. _  
_

Suddenly he was falling and the rush became a roar. Deeper, there was too much blood, surrounding him in every direction, it wasn’t his, or maybe it was but not inside where it belonged, it was everywhere, filling his ears his noise and he was drowning. Deeper still; it was deafening and he was still falling…

Fingers on his wrist wrenched him away, pulling back up and out.

Matt gasped, jerking back. The couch returned, the walls, the room and as quickly as the feeling came flooding in, it left.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He scrambled for words but no sound came. Maybe they got swept away, he thought in a daze.

Claire studied him for a moment. “Foggy said they had you on Morphine?”

_Come on._ He wrestled the anxiety back. _Words, he could do words. He was a lawyer, this was his speciality_. “Yeah” It came out in a croak, but it was good enough. The cut on his head smarted. “I think it’s starting to wear off though”

“Do you know when your last dose was?”

“I think they gave me more last night?” He clenched his fist. _Again with the thinking_ , he wanted to _know_ , but those memories were hazy and smudged by long periods of darkness.

Claire raised her arm and peeled back one of her gloves. “It’s just gone four now so that seems about right. I could give you something if you wanted, not as strong but-”

“Nnhg” Matt protested. “Drugs mess with how I see. It’s...overwhelming.”

Claire sighed, and it swirled in the air between them. He followed it down down down the hall, up the wall and out the open window where it joined the smell of car fumes and he lost it to the breeze.

“Don’t worry about sensing anything then, just lay still. I can probably handle being a regular nurse for now” She might have given him a small smile but before Matt could focus to confirm, it was gone and Claire resumed her probing.

In the kitchen, Foggy’s knees creaked as he bent and rose, bent and rose, picking rubbish and shattered jars off the floor before throwing them in a bag. The pattern was simple and soothing and slowly Matt’s breathing evened out. In the street, a cat dug through an overturned bin for scraps. It snagged a sodden chip and a few feet away a crow hopped closer, ever the opportunist.

It was all growing faded again though. Matt could feel the sun through the window, and cling as he might to wakefulness it was warm and heavy on his skin. So warm...

 

* * *

 

“…going to be okay? He still seems kind of out of it; is that normal?”

“Morphine can have that effect. Give it the night, wait for the meds to wear off and see how he goes. I would also recommend a trip to the neurologist to be safe but…”

“Yeah we both know how that would go down”

Matt scowled. He was sitting right here and he could answer for himself. He released the frustration with a loud huff.

Foggy turned at the sound, heat spreading to his cheeks. “Sorry bud, we’re talking about you. Thought you were asleep”

Claire was no longer sat beside him but leant against the kitchen counter with Foggy, both nursing half-drunk beers.

"Hey if you’re up we should probably give Karen a call."

Matt's stomach rolled. There would be questions, so many questions, most of them he didn’t have answers for. Some he didn’t want to answer. He wondered if Karen would rage and shout at him, be disappointed or simply indifferent. Worse she could pity him, sweet Lord he couldn't deal with any more pity. He would take the anger over that any day. He and it were old friends after all.

The sound of frantic pocket patting. “What the…where’s my – ugh I must have left it at the office. Matt can I borrow your phone?”

A laugh bubbled in his throat "If you can find it"

“You don’t know where your phone is? Where did you last see it?”

“I’ve never seen it in my life” he deadpanned. This felt right, comfortable. He hardly had to think.

Foggy snorted “If you’re back to being a smartarse you can’t be that brain damaged. That’s good”

“Use mine if you want" Claire held a phone out flat in her open palm. The edges of flesh and metal blurred together, fusing the flames into a single line. He was too exhausted to try and separate them.

“Claire, you’re a saint” Foggy took what Matt really hoped was the phone and not her disembodied hand and strode over to him.

“You’ll make me blush” She grinned around the beer top, taking another sip as Foggy slumped into a chair and started to dial.

_Don’t pick up, don’t pick up, go to voicemail._

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Hey, it’s Foggy. I’ve got someone here you might want to talk to” He clicked a button and the static amplified. Speaker phone. Shit, he had to say something. The silence ticked over and he went with what he knew.

“Hey, Karen.”

Silence. Nothing but the electronic buzz from the phone line. Foggy and Matt waited.

“Karen?”

Tears came in great sobbing gasps through the receiver and he tried to picture her face on the other end. “Matt?!”

There wasn’t anger and if there was pity it was not apparent over the phone – Although that kind of thing tended to live in lingering stares and sad glances that people never bothered to hide. Why would they? After the initial shock wore off she didn’t waste a second in bombarding him with questions, berating Foggy for not telling her sooner, exclaiming over and over ‘I knew it, I knew it, I _knew_ it’ until she ran out of air and all he could hear was the whisper of her moving lips.

Karen insisted she come over but a desperate glance in Foggy’s direction delayed her visit to when he had 'rested up a bit first'.

“He’s pretty out of it” Foggy said sheepishly, and it wasn’t even a lie. She hung up, only satisfied when he crossed his heart to see her soon.

Claire tipped the last dregs of beer back and pushed off the counter, stepping easily back over to the couch. A distinct lack of crunching under foot told Matt they had finished clearing up the floor whilst he was out.

“Well my job here is done" She yawned "I’m exhausted and my man is waiting at home for me with a hot meal, so…” She pocketed her phone and slung the medical bag over her shoulder. “I better be off. I’ll let Luke know what happened, get him in touch if you want.”

Matt reached for her shoulder but swiped her arm – “Thanks, Claire. Really.”

“It’s no Biggie, Matt. I have unlimited minutes you know” she grinned at her own joke but Matt remained solemn.

“I don’t mean the phone”

“I know.” She leant in and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead “I’m glad you’re here”

His skin sang where she touched him

“Take care, you two.” She turned one last time “Thanks for the beer” then the door clicked shut.

Foggy stared after her, shaking his head. “I definitely owe Claire a fruit basket.”

“Or ten” Matt mumbled, closing his eyes once more.

“I don’t think there’s enough fruit in the world to repay that woman with.” He carried the glasses over to the sink and turned on the tap. “Hey when you’re feeling up to it we’ll have to go to the police station, let them know you’ve been found”

All thoughts of sleep vanished. Matt jolted upright, the movement making his head swim. “You- you went to the police?”

“Of course I went to the police!” Foggy scoffed, like it was the simplest, most obvious thing in the world and went back to washing out the beer bottles.

“Why would you do that” The raised words clawed Matt’s throat but he didn’t care. Something hot and angry bubbled in his chest and he grabbed the couch arm to swivel round and direct it at Foggy’s blurred form. “What if they notice Daredevil and the vigilantes’ lawyer went missing at the same time?”

Foggy remained calm, his gaze still fixed on the empty glass and kept scrubbing. It had to be clean by now. The squeaking bounced around the sink and directly into Matt’s skull. The anger flared. “It’ll be too much of a coincidence for them to ignore!”

Squeaking, rinse, pour. Squeaking, rinse, pour.

“Foggy! What were you thinking-”

“I thought you were dead!” Foggy slammed the bottle down and marched over to him in a few quick strides. “I was thinking that I was never going to see you again! Not alive anyway!”

And just like that it hit him; the people he loved most had thought he was gone forever, that he had died, they had _mourned_ , and in one fell swoop of chosen words the anger heating his bones was doused. The sudden surge of strength drained away with it and left in its wake a nauseating guilt.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Fogs” Matt couldn’t get the words out fast enough, they kept tripping over each other. He ground his eyes with the balls of his palm. “I’m sorry I’m sorry…”

“Woah okay. It’s okay just take it easy” His heart stuttered with worry.

Matt collapsed back into the cushion and Foggy sighed deeply, slouching down into the chair beside him. “You just re-joined society, I guess you get a pass this once.”

Matt concentrated on the stampede in Foggy’s chest gradually fade into the distance, the indignance tapering off.

Silence stretched between them and Matt felt the tension of unasked questions. He sensed it briefly in the shelter and again in the ride home. Even through the cotton wool in his brain, he knew whatever Foggy wanted to say, it had been building for a while.

“Karen kept telling me that you were alive. She wouldn’t hear it any other way”

Matt felt a swell of affection for her, in her faith in him despite everything. It only fed the guilt.

“I tried to get her to move on. I’m sorry.”

“No don’t do that, don’t apologise. You said it yourself, you thought I was dead.”

_Dead._ The single syllable echoed loudly in the gloom. More silence.

Foggy looked down, focusing intently on his own knee “Matt…What happened?” The caution and faint wobble in his voice reminded Matt of the tone used to corner a wounded animal. “The others - Luke, Danny, Jessica… They told me about the hole, the fight.” He pursed his lips, selecting each next word carefully “They said you were all about to leave. That you could have left too.”

Matt froze. He didn’t like where this was going.

“They said you stayed, even though… you knew about the bomb. You still stayed down there”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that, please anything but that.

“I know this probably isn’t the best time to be talking about this” Foggy continued quickly “I just have to know if you’re going to do anything stupid”

Matt’s brain ground to a halt. This couldn’t be happening. _Get out, abort, back-pedal._ Emergency backup power required. Red flashing exit signs. He crossed his arms tightly. “You-” His lips were too dry. He licked them and tried again. “You’re not my priest and frankly-”

“Damn right I’m not” Foggy finally looked up. “I’m your friend! Screw that, we’re family, and you…” His voice cracked "You stayed”

_You killed yourself._

“Why would you do that?”

Matt swallowed thickly, turning his head away in the hope Foggy wouldn’t see the wetness to his eyes.

“Did you _want_ to die?”

The bluntness of the question knocked him off balance and he wanted to lash out, snap back because _how dare he_.

Taking a life, even your own was a sin. Then again so was lying and when Matt opened his mouth to reply he couldn’t quite force the ‘no’ off his tongue. He wasn’t afraid of death; he risked it every time he went out in the suit but he wasn’t interested in being a martyr.

“It’s not that simple” he said affronted.

“Then explain it to me. Please.”

His thoughts drifted to the night he stood overlooking the city with _her,_ felt the desperation in her stillness, staring blankly down, recognised it in himself every time he took to the rooftops. To jump or fall to jump or fall. What had he said to her? _This feeling – it passes_. He never entertained any other option. There was always more work to do in Hell’s Kitchen, people to keep safe but after that week, after the Hand, the hole, the bomb…It was all over, they had won, everyone he loved was safe, _it was over_ -

-and despite the building collapsing all around them, that weight in his chest lifted and he felt relief. Even now, deep down past the aching, the morphine, and haziness of sleep, he felt out of place; shifted one fraction to the left of everyone else and lagging a second behind. Distant, like he wasn’t supposed to be here. He knew what he was doing that night, knew the moment he stayed instead of leaving in the elevator that he was not making it out alive. That was his choice, his, and he had been prepared to die with it. With _her_ …

“Elektra” he whispered her name like a prayer and Foggy shifted in his seat to face him better.

“What about her”

Outside, the autumn air grew thick with the promise of rain and the alley cat took shelter in an overhang. Matt focused on the clouds, or where he thought clouds should be and imagined them grey and purple, blooming like bruises. He took a deep shuddering breath.

“I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t live with that, with myself if I left her to-” The wad in his throat cut him off and he pulled at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I don’t remember her dying this time. I don’t know if I could live with that again.” Matt pulled harder on the thread, as if it would only unravel and pull everything he felt out with it.

“But I still _know_. And it hurts, shit it hurts…”

For the second time that day he felt Foggy’s arms around him, pulling him in and holding tight. For a moment the weight seemed to lessen ever so slightly. Matt forced his breathing to even out, to slow, and as the minutes slipped past it loosened the knot in his stomach bit by bit until finally he could speak again.

“Still not going to kiss you” He sniffed.

Foggy chuckled into his shoulder “Damn, my plans at seducing you are ruined”

“I say it a lot but… thanks, Foggy.” Matt leaned back, wiping his nose. “You shouldn’t worry though. I’m okay”

Foggy shook his head gently “I don’t think that you are, Matt. I don’t think you’ve been okay for a long time, hell none of us have, but just ignoring it won’t make it go away. Have you ever thought about, I dunno, talking to someone about this?”

“I go to confession.” he shrugged.

“I mean talking to an actual professional in… this area” Foggy waved his hands around, stirring up the air in a circle around Matt.

He laughed a harsh bark “And tell them what, exactly? They’ll think I’m delusional at best”

“Okay okay maybe not all of it but, I don’t know, just what you can?”

“I’m not so great at therapy, Foggy.”

“Wait you’ve had therapy before? When?”

“After the accident.” Matt smiled wryly, “I am still blind, y’know”

“Right, ‘course, Sorry. But could you at least think about it? And if not therapy then just promise you’ll talk to someone. Me, Claire, Karen, any of your new superhero friends. And take care of yourself yeah? If not for you, for us.” Foggy rubbed his thumb over a scratch in the chair. “I can’t lose you again either, buddy.”

He felt Foggy’s imploring gaze, but looked away unable to meet it, heard the sincere steady heart like it were his own, warm and here and thrumming in twos, _al-ive, al-ive._ A grounding force. Matt lowered his head and spoke past the lump in his throat. “Okay, Fogs. Okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I know I said more plot this chapter. Don't believe everything you read on the internet. Next time though, I promise.
> 
> Also double sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up- it's a little bit longer anywho.


	4. Chapter 4

_I wake, I hold your hand, you let me go._

-Forbidden City, Gail Mazur

* * *

 

Dawn set the skyline ablaze, silhouetting blocks of high-rise buildings and sending their shadows sprawling across the Hudson. Slowly the city began to stir; alarm clocks blared, kettles boiled and people shuffled around half asleep getting ready for the day.

Matt woke suddenly from a dream he barely remembered. _Flashes of darkness, a brush of air against his ear, ‘Hello Matthew’,_ but the more he reached for it the further it slipped away. For a moment, the scent of her lingered in the air like a memory; all lilacs and copper and he breathed it in, holding her close. Then with an outward breath she was gone, disappearing with the dream and he was alone again.

She had seemed so _real._ He pushed out with his senses, but after a few tense minutes of listening nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Apart from Foggy asleep next door, Matt was alone. Briefly he revelled in the fact that for the first since waking up, his senses appeared back to normal, well at least his version of normal. He settled back into the covers, eager to catch a few minutes more sleep before Foggy woke for work and the streets were bustling with the morning rush.

But sleep it seemed was gone for good. He felt restless, uneasy. After his initial relief, his thoughts turned inwards; back to the dream, to the panic he felt yesterday, to a cloying blackness darker than dark filling his throat, his ears, his nose. He turned over in bed and stared blankly up at the ceiling. Something was scratching at the back of his mind but he couldn’t quite make it out; there was just a persisting sense of _wrongness_. When he woke in the shelter he dismissed it as a side effect of medication, and in his drug-fuelled haze it seemed unimportant. Now he wasn’t so sure.

A few floors down Mrs. Taylor poured a cup of tea, traffic rumbled outside, a flock of pigeons cooed on the telephone wire, and next door Foggy's snores drifted from the couch. All normal. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, he could feel it on an instinctual level that experience told him shouldn't be ignored, could feel it in his heart-

 _His heart_. He sat bolt upright, straining to listen. He waited. Every muscle shook with the effort to keep completely still.

Nothing. It sat still and unbeating in his chest.

The shock was like a kick to the head. How was that possible? He considered calling Claire or for once in his life an ambulance, and scrambled for his phone. S _hit where was it._ His hand hit it on the nightstand - the police must have returned it to Foggy then. Matt hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

A terrifying thought was growing at the back of his mind where the scratching was, clawing its way to the forefront of his awareness.

 _No, there had to be an explanation._ Some last traces of morphine messing with his senses? It had to be. But his head felt clear and the throbbing in his head and side was proof nothing was holding back the pain anymore. Maybe a complication from his injuries? But he felt no pressure or shortness of breath and he couldn’t sense anything else wrong in the area around his heart. Besides, the sense of wrongness he felt wasn’t new, it had just taken some lucidity to notice. He dropped the phone on to the bed and placed two fingers to his throat, searching, praying for a pulse, waiting on edge to feel just one flutter of movement.

Still nothing. The thought expanded, pushing all others away and rose to the surface.  
Elektra was stabbed. She died and was resurrected without a heartbeat. He was under a building when it collapsed. He was alive and could no longer feel his heartbeat…

The rest fell in to place and finally it settled over him, cold and abrupt in its certainty. He ripped off the covers, ribs screaming with the effort and barely managed to stagger to the bathroom before he vomited in to the toilet. With a violent heave he expelled the little water he consumed the previous night and retched again, spitting up bile then nothing and more nothing but his gut kept churning over and over, eyes watering and stomach muscles cramping with the force of it until there was nothing left to give.

His throat burned and he welcomed it, like it could cleanse him from the inside out. He felt rotten. _He should be rotting. Should be in the ground._ That was now a fact, and it terrified him.

On the other side of the door Foggy’s snoring cut off.

Shaking, Matt spat into the bowl and groaned. His head spun with questions - there was a gap in his memory spanning between the fight at Midland Circle and waking up at the shelter – one that he was sure had at least some of the answers. _If only he could recall them._

He remembered the fight, movements a familiar dance, Elektra pressing her Sai to his throat, the metal sweet and deadly as a kiss. Then their lips crashed together, desperate and charged and impossibly alive. Rock, scaffolding and brick crumbled, shaking apart and crashing down around their heads, setting the world on fire ablaze.

Holding her close then-

-Nothing. Not even pain. He didn’t even know what dealt the final blow. Matt pushed back against the darkness, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut with the mental effort of it but the wall refused to budge. Fresh pain bloomed in his fist as he slammed it into the tiles, once, twice, thre-

“Dude, you alright in there?” Foggy asked through the closed door, his voice still thick with sleep.

Surprised he pulled his hand back, stopping it just short of the floor. Blood was already rushing to the burst capillaries under his knuckles and he winced at the bruise he knew was already beginning to form.

“M’fine” he answered. Truthfully, he had never felt further from it. He was both hot and cold all over, the faint buzzing beneath his skin was like an electrical storm and he felt strangely hollow. He wondered if that was simply the lack of a beat pushing a familiar _thud-thud_ through his body, or if it was something worse… He dispelled the thought with a shake of his head. He would take Nobu’s beating any day over this pervasive _otherness_ that cloaked him like a second skin. He entertained the idea of asking Foggy to feel for a heartbeat, just to be sure, but let it drop almost immediately. It would only accomplish in scaring his friend and the more Matt thought about it, the less he wanted Foggy knowing at all. Outside, his friend hesitated, then with a sigh he shuffled away from the door and towards the kitchen.

Tuning in to other people’s heartbeats was common routine; to anticipate behaviour, mood, and each person had a signature cadence that once he familiarised could identify them in a crowded room. It was harder to block out than let in – nobody realised just how noisy their bodies were. However outside of meditation, Matt’s own heartbeat wasn’t something he paid much attention to, it was just another frequency of white noise he blocked out day to day.

Now it was gone the silence was deafening. He clutched a hand over his chest, fingers forming a protective cage over where his heart would be thrumming in fear if it were well and whole.

Everyone thought he had died. Turned out they were right after all. But who bought him back? And why? If it was Elektra, she had to still be alive too. He expected to feel more joy at the realisation, but it was all mixed up and diluted under guilt, anger and more confusion. Matt rubbed his temples. The only other possibility was one of the Hand leaders themselves, if they somehow survived… Matt shuddered, stopping that thought process in its tracks.  They brainwashed Elektra and honed her as a weapon – but he knew who he was and Matthew Michael Murdock didn’t feel any murderous tendencies to ‘serve life itself’.

Either way, he was no good on the floor hunched over a toilet; he needed to make a plan. Matt rocked forwards on his heels and levered himself upright, then reached for the cold tap, cupping his hand under the stream and bringing it to his mouth to wash away the bitter taste. He paused then splashed his face too and feeling a little steadier, he thought about where to start. Heading back to Midland circle and retracing his steps seemed like a good idea and who knew, maybe it could jog something in his memory, he also wanted to visit the shelter and ask the nuns more about the night they found him – or rather he found them. He turned off the tap and leant both hands against the sink, biting his lip in concentration. Then there was the issue of the story he would tell the police… he scrubbed a hand over his face and felt the thin layer of grime and sweat from days spent in bed and God knows where.

But before anything, he really needed a shower.

* * *

  
Foggy opened the fridge, sighed deeply and a closed it again. _Dammit_ of course it was empty; he and Karen cleared out the perishables a couple of days after they thought Matt… his brain stuttered on the word died and skipped over it, refusing to dwell… from now on, ‘The Incident’ would do just fine. Aliens raining from the sky was also called the incident, but he thought this deserved a capital ‘I’. Maybe some underlining of the article. A trademark symbol perhaps.

He had stayed over for the night, suggesting casually as he could “Hey so, I should probably crash here if that’s cool with you?”

_Matt stiffened, hunching up his shoulders immediately on the defensive. Foggy scrambled, adding quickly, “It’s late and I don’t like the look of those thunder clouds. You know what the rain does to my hair man, you’re lucky you can’t see it in this weather”_

_It was thinly veiled reasoning and Foggy wondered if Matt could tell half-truths by listening to his heartbeat. He wasn’t lying. It_ was _late; just after midnight when Matt came to again and Foggy helped him get to bed, clumsily removing Matt’s shoes and socks when he tried (and failed) to reach down to pull them off himself and nearly fell over. Plus, the rain_ really did _frizz up his hair._

_Of course, the main reason was that he knew Matt, whose knee-jerk reaction was to reject help when it was offered and Foggy was not ready to find Matt alive only to leave and come back to see he had died during the night so his pride could remain intact._

_Matt scrunched up his face like he was searching for a valid excuse. He either couldn’t find one or was too tired to argue, because eventually he deflated and grudgingly agreed, looking defeated._

_Foggy grinned. One - Nil to Nelson._

Back in the present, Foggy was doing battle with Matt’s over-complicated coffee machine. It was one of the many things that Matt was very particular about along with silk bedsheets and his strange brand of German beer that, before the discovery of Daredevil, Foggy had simply taken for pickiness. As it turned out, having super senses allowed you to detect some rather unsavoury things that Foggy preferred Matt _not_ to point out, especially when he was mid-bite into his favourite pizza _thank you very much_.

_“Is that why you refuse to eat from Joe’s Pizzeria?”_

_“They don’t wash their hands, Foggy, and when they’ve just gone to the toilet that’s not something I want in my mou-”_

_“Okay got it! Aaand we are done ordering from there! But for future reference, I don’t want to know… Wait, unless it’s life threatening; then you are more than welcome to give me a heads up.”_

“You have to press the side button first”

Foggy startled, so absorbed was he that he never heard Matt leave the bathroom. Whipping around so fast he waited a second for his head to catch up before scolding, “You’re too sneaky, don’t make me put a bell on you”

Matt laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He seemed a little better than yesterday; more alert and wearing a clean pair of jeans and a hoodie, but he did still look like, well, a building had fallen on top of him. And he was standing very still, just… watching. Or listening. Whatever. It was odd.

Foggy shifted from one foot to the other. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough. What are you making?” he stepped closer, smelling the air.

“Breakfast! Well, the liquid kind – y’know, the beany life blood of the working man? I had to throw most of the food in your fridge away when, uh—” He cleared his throat, “There’s coffee though still, hence…” he gestured to the counter behind him where the coffee machine was now whirring angrily but finally dispensing hot water into the mug. “I only got rid of the stuff that spoiled. You want any? There’s no milk but I suppose you never put much in anyway.”

Matt shook his head, looking pained at the thought of consuming anything rich. “Water will do me fine.”

Foggy ‘hmmphed’, “Well if you do want something solid you’ll have to order it – can you even order breakfast? That’s got to be a gap in the market” He waved his spoon in the air “Why are we lawyers! This has untapped potential for sure. Or if you don’t mind waiting a bit I could bring you something back when-”

“I’m good thanks, Foggy.” Matt interrupted, not un-kindly, “I’ll pick up something on my way back.”

Foggy paused mid-stir and squinted at him sideways. “Back from where exactly?” He removed the spoon and tapped it against the rim, “Because for a second there it sounded like you were going out. Which would be kind of dumb. Y’know, only a day after returning from the dead”

 _That damn word again._ Foggy regretted it as soon as it left his mouth; it was too early to joke about, no matter how hard he tried to take it all in stride. Matt also flinched at his choice of words and Foggy barrelled past the ensuing silence. “You still have two broken ribs-”

“ _Fractured_ ribs-” Matt corrected.

“and a non-specific head injury that Claire was ominously vague about.”

“I’ve done much more with a lot worse”

Foggy’s eyebrows rocketed towards his hairline “You’ve done—You realise that’s not comforting, right?” He looked at Matt pointedly, then unsure if he could tell narrated, “I’m giving you some seriously pointed looks now”

Matt’s mouth twitched upwards with the hint of a smile. “It’s just to the police station to get things sorted. You were the one who saying I needed to go-”

“-When you were feeling up to it”

“Which I am!”

“I want to believe that’s true but you’re making it really hard, leaning against the couch like that”. Matt was indeed resting his weight against its back and listing a little to the left, at Foggy’s words however, he made a rather pathetic attempt to straighten himself up.

“Also, no offence but you look like shit. You are literally covered in bruises, and if we waltz into Brett’s office right now with no solid answers to their very many questions, I would bet all my holdings in sirloin and cold cuts that I’m getting written up for domestic abuse.”

Matt snapped his mouth shut. It wasn’t like mirrors were an option and of course he could feel the bruises, but Foggy wasn’t sure how well he could translate their pain to how badly they looked.

He sighed. “Get some rest. Give us time to figure out what our story is, then we’ll go tomorrow. Okay?”

Matt stared off to the right, working his jaw. Finally, he offered a faint shrug.

That was probably as good as Foggy was going to get. “Okay I have a meeting with a client to get to but I’ll swing by after work.”

Fifteen minutes and a quick coffee machine tutorial later, Foggy slung his coat over his arm and unlatched the front door. He stopped, glancing back sheepishly.

“Sorry to dash off, I’ve got to pick some stuff up from home before work and I-”

“It’s fine” Matt waved his hand “don’t worry about me”

“Can’t help but, buddy.” Foggy said under his breath. He left, pulling the door closed behind him and knowing Matt could still hear, added “I keep my phone on” _aka call me if you need to._ Then a little louder, “And if I hear you’ve been doing anything but convalescing in bed today I will kick your arse”

He wasn’t sure if he imagined the quiet chuckle.

* * *

  
Matt dipped his head, tilting it this way and that like a radar dish finding the right signal. He listened as Foggy made his way through the narrow hallway, descended the four flights of stairs, pushed open the double doors and stepped outside. Matt followed him two blocks, the slap of his shoes on the tarmac pavement steadily growing fainter -when suddenly it stopped and Matt feared he was about to double back- but there was a rustle of fabric sliding over fabric and he realized Foggy had simply stopped to put on his coat. Then he was off again down the street, whistling softly, and Matt returned to himself.

He needed answers, and he wasn’t going to find them sitting at home. He had to be sure. It was a good thing he knew a certain PI who could help.

Matt re-entered his bedroom and rummaged through the wardrobe for his coat. After running his fingers over the braille label to confirm it was the right one, he slipped it on and reached for his glasses on the nightstand… only to find the space empty. He huffed annoyed, _shit of course,_ they were in the bag with his suit and cane in the alley he changed in before the explosion. Probably with his wallet.

There wasn’t much he could do about his ID and card, but he kept $20 in his bedstand for emergencies. _If dying didn’t count as an emergency what did_ he thought bitterly, digging through the drawer and pocketing the note and phone. He could pick up his bag on the way home and pay Jessica in full – that was if she agreed to help in the first place.

Next, ignoring his protesting ribs he bent to retrieve the spare cane and glasses he kept under the bed. Pulling out the box, he wrinkled his nose at the layer of dust that had formed. The lid came off easily enough and with careful fingers he took out the glasses; they were an older model with slightly thicker lenses and a partially bent frame that pressed into his skull behind the ears but they would have to do. He kept them as a spare when he bought his current pair, never actually expecting to wear them again, however the thought of not wearing anything at all left him feeling bare and exposed. The cane at least was familiar, the same make as his current one. He stocked up when he started taking to the rooftops during the day and often left them abandoned in random dumpsters.

His shoes were by his bed where Foggy had helped take them off the previous night. He reached to pull them on but a stab of pain in his side jerked him back with a wince.

Heat rose to his neck, embarrassed at being so helpless.

“ _Pathetic”_ Stick’s voice echoed dimly and Matt shoved it back with a growl.

Still on the floor, he pressed his back against the bed and stretched out for the shoes with his feet, then pulling his leg closer he gingerly reached down to tie the laces. With that out the way he unravelled the cane with a series of clicks and used it to heave himself upright, letting it support the strain in his ribs. At last, he was ready. He took several deep breaths to soothe the throbbing in his temples, squared his shoulders, and made for the door.

Once he was out the building, the cool October air hit him in a rush and sent icy fingers reaching down his throat with each breath. He pressed his lips into a thin line and contemplated the merits of getting a ride to Jessica’s office. It wasn’t a particularly short walk, especially in the condition he was and taking a taxi would certainly give his ribs a rest. He stuck a hand in his back pocket, feeling for the cash he tucked away and decided he had enough for a trip one way, given the morning traffic.

His hand was half raised to signal down a cab before he paused and lowered it again.

No. He needed the walk. Needed to stretch his legs, to clear his head and ease the restlessness gnawing at him. There was also the urge to just… take it all in; to feel the world that he was sure he would never feel again. The bustling crowds of people, the traffic, the street vendors and shops that formed a constant wall of noise. The air, still damp with the nights rainfall saturated the whole city with a cloying damp stench. In most places, the rain would wash away the dirt and rubbish and leave the city smelling all the fresher for it. Not in Hell’s kitchen. The rain seemed filthy before it even hit the ground and the wind only stirred it all up, sending litter and leaves skittering into the gutters.

It was dirty and cramped, but there was beauty in it. It was home.

He tapped the directions to Alias Investigations into his phone, put in the earbud and started walking. The feel of his feet hitting the pavement set a familiar rhythm, sending small vibrations up his legs in time with the _tap-tap_ of his cane. The cold, the pain and lingering _otherness_ slowly drifted to the back of his mind and he allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of his city.

As he walked, Matt occasionally pulled himself out of his reverie to adjust his course. As the phone instructed him in its mechanical voice to turn right, he became aware of something hovering at the edge of his senses. Something different. He reached into his jacket and paused the directions.

The back of Matt’s neck prickled.

He slowed, stretching his awareness out further. Past the screech of tires, exhaust fumes and oil spitting from hot dog stands, the hum-drum of a thousand bodies, people talking-

 _There_ , on the roof a block back. He knew those footsteps. Not for the person, he wasn’t sure who it was, but for the intent – there was something so distinct in the way people moved who did not want to be noticed; each move was deliberate and placed with care, then there was the unmistakable cushion of air under their feet before each step impacted as whoever it was slowed down to stay unnoticed.

They were following him.

Matt’s grip tightened around his cane, mind going into overdrive and he faltered. _Keep calm, keep walking._ Better that whoever it was didn’t know they were found out. He kept putting one foot in front of the other and tried to zero in on the stranger. Male, early thirties, fit and wearing some sort of armour. They took easy, controlled ( _no, more than controlled_ \- _measured_ ) breaths that ticked in time with their body as they moved. They were a fighter and they were trained, that much was clear. Matt cursed, wishing he had taken a taxi after all.

He quickened his pace, cane swinging wildly back and forth in front of him. It gave him some advantage in clearing a path but the strangers pace picked up too to maintain the distance. They moved with practiced ease and Matt moved quicker, hoping the speed and straight streets gave him an advantage over navigating the rooftops, but soon the crowds were moving out of his way. With clenched teeth Matt realized he was now even easier to single out, and the stranger’s increased tempo said he was only gaining.

In a last-ditch effort to shake the stranger off his tail, Matt changed tactics. He ducked into a side street, and holding his cane horizontally by its centre his walk turned into a half-jog down the worn concrete path. _Dead end._ He jumped up onto a dumpster and over a low wall, pushing off with a surge of power that skinned his palms and launched him on to a strip of chain link fencing. Scrambling up its length, he threw his cane over and dropped down after it in to an alleyway backing a row of houses. Picking up his cane and shoving his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, he hurried down the path and turned on to a side street that led back out to the main road.

He came to a stop at the entrance and listened. A block back the footsteps had halted too, the stranger balancing on a flight of iron balustrades that zig-zagged up the adjacent complex. The air around their head swished as he moved it around in jerky movements, looking back and forth.

Searching.

“Señor?” A hand touched his arm and Matt’s attention lurched back to his immediate surroundings. He took a step away, resisting the reflex to raise his arms up in a defensive block and the woman withdrew her hand. Her breathing stuttered as she took in his glasses and cane, and Matt was doubly grateful for the thick lenses obscuring the worst of his bruises. “Señor, ¿estás bien?” The lady asked, voice kind and warm. Well meaning.  

“What? – ah, um si. Gracías.” 

Suddenly she took in a sharp breath. Matt's attention yo-yo’d between the stranger and the woman; he couldn’t track both at the same time so far apart. The metal under his feet strained as he leaped higher, still searching, searching, Matt just needed to listen a little longer, to be sure-

“Ah, Señor!” The woman was pressing a piece of paper to his chest, poking at his arm with a surprisingly strong finger and talking too quickly in Spanish too translate, or maybe it was completely comprehensible and his attention was too divided. As soon as he tried to make sense of it, his trace on the stranger dissolved like smoke into the city around it. Matt felt a flash of anger, she must know he was blind, _he couldn’t_ _read it_ no matter how good his senses were and now-

The lady was still talking, animatedly moving her arms around and he could only make out the several repetitions of ‘folleto’ _flyer_ and ‘tu’. An advertisement? He plastered on a smile that he hoped was at least semi-amiable and didn’t show his annoyance. “I’m not interested, thank you, ah no quiero” Matt held his arms out in front of him in a soothing gesture and eased around her, uttering apologies and pardons in quick succession until he was down the alley way and out the other side.

He leant heavily against the railing and released a long, jagged breath. The stillness in his chest despite the exertion was disconcerting, and the sense of wrongness persisted. It was like inhaling under water and getting a chest full of air or putting a hand over flames but feeling no heat. A jump without a fall - the action with no consequence.

His side was throbbing. _There are always consequences_. Matt felt under his shirt for the bandage, pushing the material to the side and was greeted by the metallic tang of blood. _Shit,_ Claire was going to kill him if she found out. His fingers roamed across the inflamed tissue, seeking out the fresh stitches she had put in and found them broken. They were probably pulled climbing over the fence - _Shit_ she was definitely going to kill him. Or worse, she would stitch him up again anyway with barely tempered irritation. Not that Matt would blame her for it, but his stomach summersaulted at the thought of bearing her disappointment and he quickly came to the decision she could never know.

The ends of the stitches were ragged where they had snapped and itchy against his bare skin so he pulled them out, wincing as he dug around the wound and dropped the remains amongst the verge of grass. Matt patted the bandage back in place and pulled his hand away. It came back wet. He touched his index finger and thumb together feeling the skin pull where the blood, already beginning to dry, stuck them together. Wiping his hand on the back of his coat, he thanked his past self’s taste in black outerwear.

He stretched his awareness back out, but a block away the stranger was gone.

He waited an extra minute to be sure, scanning the people and buildings nearby and when Matt still couldn’t find him, he prayed whoever it was had given up. He turned the corner and stepped back into the flow of foot traffic.

* * *

   
For a few bleary seconds, Jessica wondered what had woken her. She reached for her phone and knocked over an empty glass. “Fuck me” she grumbled, righting it before unlocking the screen to reveal the time as 10:07. She almost leaped out of bed, only just remembering in time that it was her day off and with a relieved sigh she buried her face back into the pillow. If she wanted to recover from a hangover in bed until noon then that is what she would damn well do.

The person knocking at her door disagreed. Well, the mystery of what woke her was solved. She should give herself a raise. Closing her eyes, she resolved to ignore it; the sign on the door clearly said ‘CLOSED’ and sooner or later the unwelcome guest had to take a hint. Right?

Wrong. The knocking continued.

Jessica turned her head so whoever it was could hear, “I’m closed! Take some free advice - they’re probably cheating on you, now go away!”

More knocking. It appeared they weren’t going to let up anytime soon.

With a defeated groan she kicked off the covers and grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor. “Jesus, okay give me a minute!” she yelled, shimmying into the jeans and pulling a tank top over her head. Before they could bang on the door again and exacerbate her steadily growing headache, Jessica strode over to the door and wrenched it open. “The sign says closed, can’t you…”

The rest died in her throat.

“Read? Not unless it’s in Braille” Matt said. “Hi, Jessica.”

She stood stock still, her hand frozen to the door handle. Matthew Murdock stood in front of her, looking worse for wear and smiling sheepishly, but very much _alive_. Matt opened his mouth to say something, then seemingly thought it better to just let her process, and closed it again. Jessica was grateful, unsure if she could summon the words to reply. After all, what do you even say to a ghost? She blinked, licked her lips, tried to think of a response but her inner monologue was just _‘what the hell’_ on loop. If he was a manifestation of her guilty conscious, then it was doing a bang-up job of making her feel guilty and freaked the fuck out in equal measure. She glanced to the bottle of whisky on her desk and considered just how much it was that she had to drink last night.

Apparently, the Matt hallucination noticed her nervous glance. “I’m real I promise”, it said “And I can explain.” He reached out a hand and slowly, carefully, pressed it to her arm. Oh. That was a very real hand. She blinked again and it seemed to solidify in front of her, the colours and textures bleeding back in as the shock wore off and he was _real_ , he was _real_ and _alive_ and standing outside her door beaten to shit and _smiling-_

“You…” the word choked its way out of her throat. “Absolute. _Arsehole._ ”

He cocked an eyebrow and shrugged in a way that said, ‘ _true but eh what can you do_ ’. “Can I come in?”

She pulled the door open wider and stepped back, giving him room to enter. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French or Latin i'm your gal but I don't know a lick of Spanish. Does it make sense? I should probably put google translate as a co-author...  
> As always I appreciate your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

_April is the cruellest month, breeding_  
_Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing_  
_Memory and desire_

 _-_ The Wasteland, T. S. Eliot

* * *

 

He was sat across from her at the desk just like any of her clients. She wished she could pretend he was just that - a client, not an _acquaintance? friend?_ returned from the grave. “You’re looking pretty good for a guy who had a building explode and fall on top of him” she said, sounding calmer than she felt.

Matt pressed his lips together in a thin smile, like he was sharing an inside joke with himself. “Yeah, so I’m told”

Something tugged in her stomach like a hooked fish. She was just happy, right? She had to be because despite the odds _he was alive_ , but what she felt was closer to anxiety. Why would she be anxious? Jessica considered opening the blinds just to give her hands something to do, but her hangover protested at the thought of lights. She crossed her arms over her chest then uncrossed them again.

“Everyone thought you were dead”

“Yeah well so did I” he uttered flatly.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean”

“Nothing” he sighed, dismissing it with a one sided-shrug. For a reason she couldn’t quite place, that bothered her to no end.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me” Jessica snapped. She looked at him, sitting in the creaky old chair, acting like nothing happened and the rolling in her gut bubbled up in anger. “You thought you were dead, huh? Was that the plan? Ride together die together, she’s gone so fuck the rest of us?”

Matt sat up, startled by the sudden tirade directed his way but now the words were pouring out she couldn’t stop. They had been getting to know each other, hell they had opened up to each other, been on their way to becoming friend’s even and he had chosen to stay in that damn hole and die. Despite the people waiting for him to come back. “You knew what was going to happen” she said, unknowingly echoing Foggys words from a day before “and you stayed anyway. What the hell, Murdock?”

He made a noise as if to talk but Jessica kept going. “You don’t think we’ve all felt like giving up at some point? Well we can’t, because if nothing else we have people who care about us - god help them – and that shit isn’t fair on them so we keep going. Okay? We keep going.” Chest heaving, she realized she had stood up at some point during her rant and she slumped back down into her chair, anger spent.

Matt had remained silent throughout; staring straight ahead with his jaw clenched. He waited for a couple of seconds before speaking. “You done?”

“You tell me”

“Listen” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I wasn’t _trying_ to do anything, it wasn’t planned. Sure, I knew it was a risk but we all knew that going down there-”

“Not like that” Jessica scoffed.

“And what, you’ve never done anything reckless?” he bit back, “We know the risks every time we try to help people, but we do it anyway because it’s _worth it_ ”

“Your friends _mourned_ you” she expelled the words out in one tired breath.

“I know, and I would do anything to take that away but…” he paused, face pained. “I couldn’t just leave without trying to get her out. I had to try alright? I had to try” He too sat back in his chair, drained, and for a minute neither said a word.

Finally, Jessica cleared her throat “Danny really took your last words to heart by the way”.

Matt lifted his head “Oh?”

“Yeah he’s been taking over Daredevil’s night shift in your absence.”

“I’ll thank him, when I see him”. More silence. Jessica tapped her finger against the desk.

“So how did you get out?”

“To be honest, I’m a little confused on the details myself”

“Then give me what you know”

“Okay… okay.” Matt licked his lips. “The last thing I remember is the building shaking around us, then I woke up at a shelter with no idea how I got there, but apparently I was on their doorstep.”

“When you say ‘us’… you mean you and your psycho ex-girlfriend?”

“Elektra” Matt corrected coolly, shoulders stiffening and he raised his head, seemingly to meet her eyes with a hard look but instead Jessica found herself faced with the flat red glare of the tinted lenses. In the gloom he seemed paler, skin standing out starkly from his black coat and the shadows merged with the bruises adorning his face. He looked hard and worn. It was considerably more effective than a stare.

Then he breathed out, shrinking into his seat and the moment passed. “Her name” he added, softer than before, “is – was - Elektra”.

“Right. Sorry” she said with a twinge of guilt “Do you remember anyone else there? After the rest of us left”

Matt’s brow crumpled. “There were some of the knocked out Hand soldiers…” The lift in pitch towards the end of his sentence made her question if he was asking or telling her. “…Right?”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t actually remember it—uh the collapse, happening. The closer I get to it the fuzzier it all feels.”

Jessica shrugged “I’m not surprised, you probably took a hit to the head. Ten I would guess, by the looks of you. It’s pretty common for short term memory to be crappy around the time of head trauma.” Every time that she had been knocked out or thrown into a wall resurfaced with a phantom splash of pain against her skull.

“Maybe” he hummed, but didn’t sound convinced. “Listen, that’s sort of why I’m here.”

“Yikes, you must be brain damaged if you think I have any kind of medical training-”

“Not that” Matt interjected. “I need to know how I got out. I don’t remember and it’s important. If some good Samaritan saved me, they might know I’m Daredevil. “But if…” He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “If I got out what is to say that no one else did either? Other members of the Hand. Madame Gao, Murukami… ”

Jessica’s heart lurched “Ah shit” she groaned. The thought that everything they did went to waste, that now they were back at square one, that like cockroaches the bad guys couldn’t just stay dead… She was too sober for this conversation. Pulling on the bottom drawer of her desk she extracted a full bottle of whisky, unscrewed the top and took a large swig. It was the cheap stuff that left a nasty aftertaste, but the pros outweighed the cons right now. “And here I was thinking the days of evil ninjas were behind us.”

The corner of Matt’s lip quirked. “Rookie mistake, Miss Jones”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and screwed the cap back on. “Did you get through to her?”

“Who?”

“Don’t bullshit me, you know who I mean. Your ex—Elektra”

Matt’s eyes weren’t visible through the glasses but Jessica got the distinct impression she was being examined.

“I’m not an idiot, Matt. I know you want to find her. Knowing if the Hand is going to be a threat again is important to you too, but I’m going to go ahead and guess that knowing if she’s alive is pretty up there on your list of priorities.”

The hand not holding his cane fisted in his lap.

“And that’s fine, I get it. But if I’m helping you with this I need to know you’re aren’t going to pull any more stunts like at the restaurant. I need to know that if I’ve got your back you’ve got mine. Deal?” She glanced Matt up and down, trying to gauge his reaction but he wore a convincing poker face that complimented the cutting arguments and calm veneers of court rooms. He stood, pushing the chair back with his legs and _crap now he was leaving,_ _she’d been too blunt,_ except instead of turning to the door like she expected he extended his hand out to her with one smooth movement.

“Deal”

Jessica shook his hand. His skin was surprisingly warm to the touch, and under her fingers she felt the rough callouses from far too many fights. With the cards laid out, she felt a little bit calmer and the tension eased between her shoulder blades. Matt pulled away and stuck his hand in his trouser pocket. “I’ll pay you for your time, of course”

“Keep your damn money, Murdock. You already gave your life.”

He laughed, a short brittle thing and brushed dirt from his jeans that wasn’t there. “Where are we going to start?”

“First place would be the people who took you in, the shelter you mentioned?”

“Clinton mission shelter”

“Right, ask the people there if anyone knows anything, if they saw anything, if there was any security footage, so on so forth. Just keep poking until something gives.” She could do this, this was her element, maybe it would all go smoothly after all.

“You free today?

“Like—right now, today?” She blinked, thrown for second.

“As you said, it’s sort of important”

She would definitely prefer more time to process what was happening. Matt was alive, the Hand were possibly still alive and kicking, and she woke up ten minutes ago with a hangover. But yeah, she had to admit it was important.

“Hmm I dunno, I’ll have to ask my boss” she dead-panned.

It was Matt’s turn to blink in surprise but he recovered quickly, playing along. “Oh yeah, what’s she saying?”

“She says that’s fine but we’re stopping off for coffee, preferably an Irish one because you so rudely woke me up. On my day off no less. You’re paying.”

Moving to the bedroom, Jessica shrugged on her leather jacket and stuck her phone in the back of her jeans. When she looked back, Matt was frowning at the floorboards.

“Got a problem there, Murdock?” Was he really being stingy about a cup of coffee?

“Nothing just…It’s eleven in the morning”

“Yeah well, it’s eleven at night somewhere” she mumbled, earning her a genuine chuckle. “Just give me five minutes to get ready. I meant it when I said you woke me up.”

 

***

They decided on walking to the shelter, giving Matt the chance to uphold his end of the deal. Halfway there he sniffed the air like a bloodhound and pulled Jessica over to a stand smelling of coffee and sandwhiches.

“Will this do?”

“Uuh sure” Jessica replied, barely concealing a laugh

“What, what is it?”

“There’s a banner. It says ‘Hot food & drink at even hotter prices!’ in comic sans.

“What’s wrong with that” Matt huffed. As much as his other senses compensated for sight, she forgot their abilities did not extend to picking out text on flat surfaces.

“I forget you’ve never seen it. It’s like the concept of adults trying to be down with the kids, but in text form. Right now, I would happily be blind.”

Matt snorted just as they were waved forward. “Two coffees please, black.”

“And two cheese bagels” Jessica piped up, taking a step towards the glass window. Matt made no comment, handing over the crumpled twenty with an apologetic glance to the man inside. Shortly, the drinks were passed through the service slot along with the change, and food in a brown paper bag. He pocketed the money quicky; the coins uncomfortably warm and sweaty from the vendors palm.

When Matt handed both bagels over to Jessica, she raised an eyebrow. “You know one is for you, right? I’m not carrying your stuff”

He hesitated, hand outstretched like he honestly hadn’t considered it. “Oh, um—thanks, but I’m not hungry”

“Really? Your stomach disagrees” and as if in reply it gave another growl. "And don't thank me, you paid for it remember"

“I’ve only got one hand for coffee” he scrambled, raising his cane for emphasis.

The disparaging glance cast Matt’s way was lost on him. “Fine, I’m not your mother - Don’t eat, don’t eat. Just don’t pass out on me because I’m not carrying you down the street, okay?”

“Okay” Matt nodded and turned his head, but Jessica caught the twitch of a grin.

“Hey this isn’t funny, I will leave your arse here don’t test me.” She was going for a serious tone but couldn’t quite help the smile that ghosted her own face. She doubted Matt believed her anyway.

Despite her earlier statement, Jessica did in fact end up carrying the bag holding both their bagels. They walked the rest of the way in relative quiet, each absorbed in their own thoughts and the bustle of the street. Every now and then she noticed the skin tighten around Matt’s brow and he tensed; tilting his head as if concentrating on something very far off. At first, she determined to ignore it, chalking the behaviour up to him just sensing his surroundings, after all she had seen him do it enough times in the suit. However, the third time it happened in quick succession her curiosity piqued. Jessica finished her coffee, tipping it back to get the last dregs and used the opportunity to glance sideways at Matt - he seemed almost pained, distant; clutching his cup so tightly his nails left crescent shaped dents in the foam.

“What’s up?” Jessica ventured, elbowing him gently in the side.

He startled and the rhythmic back and forth tapping of his cane faltered whilst he gathered himself “Hmm?”

“You okay?”

“Are you?”

Ah. Classic deflection – she had found a kindred soul. She fiddled with the polystyrene cup. The container still warm despite being empty and it was a welcome relief from the chill. She decided to humour him. “Alright I’ll bite. What do you mean?”

“You’re tired” he stated. It wasn’t a question and Jessica’s fingers stilled at the certainty of it.

“Well it’s been a hell of a couple of weeks”

“You’re telling me”

Jessica paused before deciding to push again “So. Why the constipated look?”

Matt frowned, looking torn for a minute before finally replying. “It’s-”

“If you say it’s complicated I will throw this hot coffee in your face”

Matt chuckled. “Can’t fool me, Jones, your cup’s empty.”

Damn. Busted.

“And I was going to say it’s just my ribs. They’re still a bit sore, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Well now she felt like an arsehole for poking him in the side. “Sorry”

“It’s nothing. Do you still have that other bagel?”

Jessica handed it over, exchanging it for his cup and cast around for a bin. She may be an arsehole but not an arsehole who littered. Spotting a dumpster, she tossed their rubbish inside and noticed when Matt’s cup landed with a full and heavy thud at the bottom. She sighed _It wasn’t like she paid_ and quickened her step to catch up with Matt.

He was nibbling on the bread tentatively and Jessica rolled her eyes “God, it’s not poisonous!”

“I know” Matt replied with far too much sincerity, taking a bigger bite “I would be able to smell it”

“You are so strange”

Suddenly he stopped dead in the street, nearly causing the couple walking two steps behind to crash into them.

“Matt?”

“We’re here”

* * *

 

They climbed the few steps to the front door and Matt was immediately struck by how _old_ the building was. He was greeted by the minute creaks and murmurs of layers and layers of wood, age making them shift under constant footfall and changes in air pressure. It was a sound he typically associated with churches; an oddly soothing white noise composed by long stretches of oak floors and heavy beams. The anxiety that had been building in his chest on the walk over lessened slightly. Several times, Matt had thought he was being followed again but when he focused there were no signs of the mysterious stranger who pursued him earlier. He would think it paranoia if not for the stillness in his chest that told him at this point, anything was possible.

Jessica’s voice broke Matt from his reverie, “Hey, you see the parking lot across from here?”

He glossed over the obvious blind joke, “What about it?”

“Can you pick up on any security cameras?”

One by one Matt blocked out the sounds. The squeal of bike tyres, dog claws clicking against tarmac, people laughing, talking; he peeled them all back searching for just one. Jessica knocked on the large wooden door in front of them, sending vibrations to ripple outward from her fist across the ancient panels. He blocked that out too, focusing his attention across the street and listened for the tell-tale electric buzzing.

“At the entrance, around the group of trees closest to us”.

Jessica’s hair brushed against her shoulders as she turned to look. “Got it. I can’t tell from here but if we’re lucky it’ll have us in its field of view. These kind of small supermarkets route security footage to their own control room – if I can sneak in…”

They both turned as the hatch on the door was pulled back to reveal a kind round face partly covered by a habit. “Can I help you?”

“Hi my name is Matthew Murdock. I was here…” he hesitated, unsure exactly how long he stayed at the shelter, “…for a short while until recently. Is Sister Catherine or Sister Margaret around? My friend and I would like to discuss a personal matter with them”

She scrunched her face up in concentration and hummed “Murdock… Murdock… Oh!” her eyes widened and she smiled “Yes I remember you, you’re looking a lot better I have to say.” The lady disappeared briefly as she slid the hatch back into place before reappearing in full, pulling the door open wide.

“Please, come in.” She waved Matt and Jessica inside, closing the door behind them. “Wait here, I’ll try and find them for you.”

Matt listened to her footsteps receding down the long corridor and realized that his memories of the place were hazy and, compared to what he could sense of the place now, rather skewed. For one it was slightly larger than Matt remembered, and he was shocked at how much he missed in his semi-conscious state. He pushed out, trying to get a feel of the building. To his right a door led to a room smelling of incense and old books… the chapel? Rooms of beds diverged off from the main corridor and past those were a couple of kitchens, bathrooms, and a common room.

The immediate area contained a desk, a couple of chairs and a donation box that, with a stab of guilt, Matt realized was pitifully empty and probably had been for some time if the smell of dust and mildew was anything to go by. He rummaged in his pocket for the change he got from the street vendor and slipped it in. It was a long way off from the debt he owed the place, but it was something, he supposed.

Jessica’s brow furrowed, her head turning from the lobby window to look in his direction. “Hey how much were the coffees again?”

“Two dollars each, I think. The bagels were $1.45”

“And you gave the guy a twenty?”

“Yeah why?” he asked, voice edged with reproach. He probably didn’t need an answer; experience pointed to where this was going.

“He gave you a fiver and three dollars instead of a ten”

Bingo. Matt sighed deep in his throat, less pissed off than he would have been once but still unable to be completely rid himself of that tickling irritation.

“It happens a lot, it’s fine.” He resigned himself pretty early on into being blind that some people would always try to take advantage of it, and he didn’t have the energy to get angry at every single one of them.

He voiced this to Jessica who sniffed disapprovingly, shoving her hands inside her jacket pockets. “Yeah well it still doesn’t make it fine. You know it’s-”

Whatever she was going to say next was cut off by the clicking of shoes on the hardwood floor and a few seconds later one of the sisters appeared around the corner. Matt wished he could tell which, trying desperately to match names to details from hazy memories.

“I didn’t think we would be hearing from you again.” She said in lieu of a greeting “Although I’m pleased to say that you’re looking a lot better”

“Thanks to you and the kind people working here.” Matt said honestly. Whatever happened before he arrived, he knew that to be true at least. “This is my friend, Jessica Jones” he indicated roughly to where she stood at his right and heard the swish of air as either Sister Catherine or Sister Margaret extended her hand to grasp Jessica’s.

“Hello, I’m Sister Catherine.”

_Catherine it was then._

“Sister, may we talk somewhere in private?” he asked, but as soon as the words left his mouth, Sister Catherine’s heartrate picked up by a fraction. It was so small a change that if Matt hadn’t been focused on her in the first place he would have missed it entirely, and even then, it was so small a change that Matt wondered if he imagined it. _Did she think he was threatening her? Or worse, could she know-_

“Oh, um-- of course” she stuttered, and led them through to one of the empty bedrooms. Matt let Jessica go first, walking between himself and Catherine to put some distance between them in the off-chance it eased her mind a little. Closing the door behind them, Matt perched next to Jessica on one bed and Sister Catherine on another opposite.

“What can I help you with? Is this in regards to-” In a quick afterthought, she clamped her mouth shut mid-sentence to stop the words leaving and glanced cautiously at Jessica “Does she…”

“It’s okay” Matt reassured her, “Jessica knows about my uh—nightly activities as well”

“Hang on, just how many people here know _?_ ” Jessica interrupted.

“Just her and one other- where is Sister Margaret, if I may ask?”

“My apologies, she is currently indisposed”

 _Lie_. Matt frowned, and fought to keep the scepticism out of his voice “I’m sorry to hear that. She seemed alright when we last spoke”

The nun smoothed her skirt, running her hands over the fabric again and again like she was stroking a cat. _A nervous tick, perhaps?_ “Well we have a lot of sick people here and don’t want them getting any worse.” That statement in itself was true, but that was the problem with heartbeats on their own; they cared little for context.

“Of course.” Matt continued, hoping real answers would present themselves shortly. “Maybe _you_ could help me then, in understanding how I came to be here. I don’t remember much before waking up, so any gaps you can fill in would be most helpful.”

“Well, it was late at night when I heard the commotion-”

“What kind of commotion” Jessica interjected.

“Nothing too extreme, just movement and banging at the front. Sometimes people come searching for a place to sleep, but at this hour more often than not they’re drunk or high and...” she trailed off, running her fingers over a thin scar on her hand “Well, after the first few times we stopped letting them in”

“They were violent?”

“Not intentionally, I don’t think. _Desperate_ is the word I would use, and desperate men do dangerous things”

Jessica scoffed in a volume meant only for Matt’s ears “You got that right.”

He ignored the barb directed his way and asked “So how come you helped me?”

“The noise woke Sister Margaret too; she is the one who looked through the hatch and saw the devil, unconscious and badly injured on our doorstep. I’m ashamed to say I hesitated, for I feared the violence you might bring with you.” She clasped her hands gently in her lap and Matt felt her gaze upon his face. “But as Maggie said: turning a blind eye like the Priest and the Levite did on the road to Jerusalem, would be a sin on both our parts. She took you in without a thought. Insisted on it really”

Warmth bloomed in his chest for the two nuns and he swallowed. “I appreciate that”. Lawyer by day and vigilante by night, it was easy to be overwhelmed by the worst of humanity, the cruel and the criminal, to feel smothered by the dark of the kitchen. The kindness of strangers was a stark reminder that good was just as present, quieter, but there. “You didn’t see anybody else? Hear anything?”

Catherine shook her head and her heartbeat quickened “It was just you, dear.”

She wasn’t lying as far as he could tell, just… nervous. He desperately wanted to know Jessica’s thoughts, if she was picking up on something he wasn’t but she remained inscrutable and calm as when they sat down. Matt released the tension in his shoulders he hadn’t realised was there and made an effort to seem more relaxed. Jessica was better at this than he was; it was how she made a living after all.

“Do you know around what time this was?” she asked Catherine, whose nervous fiddling had progressed to hand wringing. She bit her lip, and when a minute passed without a word Matt struggled to hide his frustration.

“Sister, it’s really important that I find out what happened so if you remember anything or think of anything, please let me know.”

“It must have been around two in the morning? I think-- I don’t…” Catherine closed her eyes in thought and her laughter lines were a folding accordion to Matt’s ears, grating and off key to her heartbeat. He pushed down a wave of anger that rushed in suddenly; he knew he was being irrational, that it wasn’t her fault if she didn’t know anything, that she was so _loud_.

His frustration must have shown, it must have because her heart began hammering like a jackrabbit, and all at once it was too much to take. The anger surged, crashing over him like a wave and Matt stood abruptly, the excuse of needing the bathroom tumbling from his lips as he made a quick exit.

His feet carried him back down the hallway and away from the noise. Stick would be disgusted that he could be so weak _._ Matt pictured his sneer, the one that cut a jagged red line across his face _‘this is child’s play, what the hell’s wrong with you’_ and just like that he realized he would never see Stick again. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Matt wondered if that was a good or a bad thing. Either way, he never wanted it like this, _not permanently_ and the loss hurt; the same hurt as when his dad was murdered, Elena, Elektra… How many more would he have to bury? All his anger swept away and now with nothing to dilute it, the grief stung all the more keenly. Matt shoved it down - mourning would come later.

The wound on his head and side began throbbing again in unison and he leaned against the wall to steady himself. Someone in the room next door would have a cold tomorrow; he could hear the congestion crackling in their lungs with each breath, and an elderly couple shuffled into the common room, each supporting the other and talking softly as their bones protested with each step. Matt wandered on, searching for somewhere quiet, somewhere away from everything- He stopped, finding himself outside the doors to the chapel. He touched the door handle at the same time some small scared voice at the back of his head wondered if he was still allowed on holy ground; if his death made him some sort of abomination. Matt scoffed inwardly, he was being ridiculous, he was still human. But that fear-

The fear that came from his grandma, toothless and hard eyed warning ‘ _Be careful of the Murdock boys, they have the devil in them’_

-gave volume to the voice, and it was enough to make Matt hesitate. He stepped over the threshold, braced as if expecting to be struck down by some divine force… but he proceeded un-smited and breathed a sigh of relief.

Incense from the chancel wove around the room in spirals, and to the left of the aisle a whispered prayer joined the smoke rising to the high ceiling. _That heartbeat leaning over him, the smell of ink and wood…_ Familiar yet distant, like something from a dream. He made his way over, not bothering with his cane and joined Sister Margaret on the bench a couple of feet away.

Matt waited for her to her cross herself before speaking. “Sister Catherine said you were unwell”

The nun stiffened but didn’t turn to face him, keeping her head bowed. “Of a sort”

“Something on your mind?”

His question was met with silence and if possible, more stiffening; every muscle in her body tightening like a wound spring that could snap at any moment. When at last she spoke, it was with great effort and Matt could sense the tightening in her throat, the little hitch of air as she searched for words, what to say, what not to say; he knew that feeling.

“What are you doing back here?” The words rushed past her clenched teeth like his very presence pained her. Matt scrambled his memory for what he could have done to make her react so strongly but came up blank.

“If I’ve done something to offend you, please forgive me-”

“Forgive you? Forgive…” She slumped and all the tension rolled off and away. “You did nothing wrong” she whispered, finally lifting her head to look at him and he saw her face wreathed in flames, pinched and sad. “Forgive me, if I ever made you think that”

Matt shifted, confused by the weight in her words. “No, no need.” An idea presented itself. He felt bad pushing when she was clearly upset but in his experience, it was when people were most truthful. Besides drunk or angry. The niggling feeling hadn’t gone away and he wanted the truth. “I think I asked you once if we had met before. You seem familiar.”

The tension was back and she straightened again in her seat, seeming to think for a while before replying “You grew up in…Where was it you said you grew up?”

“St. Agnes. It’s an orphanage in Hell’s Kitchen”

“Ah. I volunteered there from time to time, maybe that’s it.” She said, smoother than Matt expected. She was indeed telling the truth - maybe not the whole truth but it was enough to satisfy him.

“Maybe…” he echoed, deciding to move on for now. “Listen, I wanted to ask you about the night you found me.” Sister Margaret seemed relieved at the subject change and nodded vigorously for him to go on, forgetting Matt shouldn’t be able to see it. He continued anyway, “Was anyone there other than me? Do you remember anything”

She tapped a nail against the bench, thinking, and the rhythmic taps resonated like hands on a clock. “Hmm.” _Tick. Tick._

Matt waited eagerly for the seconds to pass, hanging on each beat. _Tick. Tick_.

 _Tick._ Her finger paused, half raised. “There was something, but it could have just as easily been a trick of the light. The lamps across the street really need repairing-”

“What did you see?”

“Just a shadow. I caught only a glimpse when I opened the hatch and then it disappeared around the corner”

“Well how big was it?” Even that small detail could clue him into if it belonged to a man or a woman, but Sister Margret was shaking her head and any hope Matt had evaporated.

“By then my attention was more focused on the fact that Daredevil was at my doorstep, so I couldn’t tell you I’m afraid.”

Just a shadow wasn’t very helpful – another dead end. He sighed and Sister Margert turned at the noise, “This disappoints you. Why do you want to know?”

“I just guess it would answer a lot of questions I have.”

“If- if you don’t mind me asking something... no.” She scowled deeply, shaking herself. “No, it’s not my business. Never mind.”

“It’s okay. It’s your turn” he chuckled, giving a disarming smile but it had no effect on the nun who was deep in thought.

“You weren’t born blind- I mean you weren’t, were you?”

Matt shoved his glasses further up his nose, suddenly very self-conscious. He was used to the blind questions after answering them all one million times but with Sister Margert it felt different, like she was probing for something. Searching him. He cleared his throat “I wasn’t, no. It was an accident when I was young involving a chemical spill.”

A quick inhale of breath and a soft, barely audible _‘oh’._ “I’m so sorry to hear that. I am so sorry, Matthew.”

Matt cocked his head, intrigued. Usually when people said they were sorry to hear about his blindness it was an expression; they weren’t actually apologising, but for the first time since hearing it (and he had heard it a lot), the person saying it sounded truly and wholeheartedly _sorry_. Each word ached with regret.

Bony hands ghosted at his shoulder, then his leg and back to his shoulder maybe to offer a comforting squeeze but never quite touching him before withdrawing again; flittering nervously like moth wings before a bulb. Matt pretended he didn’t notice and tried not to hold his breath.

 She withdrew for the last time and clasped her hands back together.

“If you’re blind then how-”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling them both and interrupting her next question which was inevitably about how Daredevil did what he did without sight. _Saved by the bell_. Matt muttered a quick apology to Sister Margert and winced in the direction of the crucifix hanging above the alter, before slipping an earbud in and reading the text.

 

[11:32] UNKNOWN:  
Where u at? -Jessica

  
He tapped out a quick reply.

[11:33]  
Needed some air

 

His phone pinged again, then again and when it was clear this was going to be a conversation Matt pardoned himself. “Excuse me, I need to answer this. Thank you for your time and taking the risk to help me. I appreciate it, truly.” He rose, turning away to make his exit when Sister Margert opened her mouth to say something and he paused. Her hand outstretched as if to keep him from leaving but she seemed to think better of it, snapping her mouth shut with a ‘pop’ and dropped her hand back into her lap. Matt took that as his cue to leave and walked back down the aisle, cane extended this time tapping between the benches. Her eyes never left the back of his head, watching him all the way until he was out the door.

Matt closed it behind him with a click and exhaled, directing his attention back to the phone.

[11:33] UNKNOWN:  
That lady was real tight-lipped. I’m feeling she knows more than she lets on but she isn’t spilling

[11:33] UNKNOWN:  
I’m going to do some shopping across the road. I’ll spool through and let you know if I find anything worth while

 

 [11:34]  
Want a hand?

[11:34] UNKNOWN  
Nah I have it worked out.

[11:34]  
Ok

Something else occurred to him.

[11:35]  
Wait, how did you get my number?

[11:35]  
I’m a Private investigator dumbass it wasn’t hard. Don’t wait up.  
  


He didn’t need the text to know she had already left the building; the smell of whisky and leather that was unmistakeably ‘Jessica’ was quickly drifting out the open entrance, and Matt thought it best to follow suit. He stepped outside, giving the place that saved him one last appreciate glance before striding away. He was only a few meters down the road when his phone pinged again twice, forcing him to step to the side of the pavement and dig it out once more. He rolled his eyes at the message, but couldn’t keep the twitch of a smile off his face and when he walked away it would have been fair to say his mood was the tiniest bit brighter.

[11:37]  
For the record I’m glad you didn’t die

[11:37]  
But I preferred the old glasses

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know an update was overdue sorry about that; among other things I had a stint in hospital because I got cleaning stuff in my eyes. It hurt like hell and I had gauze covering them for a while so I couldn't see. May irony never defeat us.... I definitely have a new-found apprecation for how people go about everyday business blind. It's freakin HARD.  
> Disclaimer: I have no idea where stuff happened geographically. I consulted Manhatten on google maps and guessed.  
> [Also, I just saw this on the Daredevil official twitter and I am not okay](https://twitter.com/Daredevil/status/920010683671965696)  
> 


End file.
